


Red Poppies

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Acceptance, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottoming from the Top, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, Love, M/M, Memories, Murder, POV First Person, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Bottom Juice, Prison, Reading, Rutting, Self-Acceptance, Senses, Sex, Smut, Some angst, Top Chibs, final season, non canon compliant as Chibs and Juice were never lovers, reflections from death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 17:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Juice reflects on the events leading up to his death. One particular memory of an afternoon spent with Chibs consoles him.





	Red Poppies

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first-person account from Juice's point of view. There are no extensively graphic descriptions of the rape, just vague mentions, as is the case with his murder.  
> My first fic for this fandom but I've seen SOA like 8 times so I'm actually surprised it's taken me this long to write something.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_“A brotherhood of misery,_  
_Their smiles as sad as sighs;_  
_Whose madness daily maddened me,_  
_Distorting into agony_  
_The bliss before my eyes.”_

_  
  
The last thing I remember saying is “Just let me finish my pie.” I kinda wish those weren’t my last words, but now it doesn’t matter. What matters once you’re dead?  
Jesus I savored every bite. While prison food isn’t all that great, the desserts are often good. A generous and skilled inmate put on baking duty may find within himself a well of benevolence. After all, he eats the same meals. He knows the importance of even the smallest bit of joy. Made right, a cake or pie filled with processed sugar, all set to boost endorphins, becomes a commodity.   
  
Cherry pie is what I chose as my last meal. It’s not like I looked at the damn calendar. After the Asian tune-up my clock was ticking anyway. But when I saw the slices being put on the trays… I knew.   
Today would be a good day to die.   
The scalpel was cold against my thigh. It felt like I had a pocket full of coins and that weight was slowing me down. It was a burden, one I would carry on me every day until the right moment presented itself.   
Cherry pie just seemed like the perfect excuse.   
  
Tully was patient. Allowed me to clean the plate. I would have licked every last crumb from it given the chance. I’m no expert, and perhaps circumstance led to my perception being skewed, but damn the crust was just right. Flaky but not soggy. I closed my eyes when the filling hit my tongue, pushing my sensitive taste buds to experience explosive sensations. They overwhelmed me and I nearly smiled! Jesus Christ! I hadn’t smiled in so long the corners of my mouth were weak.   
  
Red confetti blew behind my lids. The cherries themselves, cut into fourths and not halves, burst in sweetness against my back molars. The meaty texture of the pulp held the syrupy glaze perfectly.   
In a word, ecstasy. I’d never get a chance to compliment the cook but I hope that someone else did. Mostly because we all need reinforcement. Encouragement.   
Love.    
  
I should know. Everything I did, all the things I fucked up in my short pathetic life… it was out of my selfish desire to be loved.   
I was too much of a coward, at least until the very end, to face the consequences of what I’d done. Too afraid to be alone with my own dark thoughts. And so it spiraled and spiraled until the corners of my mind echoed with the screaming and the lies, the gunshots and all the humming…   
  
The fucking relentless sizzling just never stopped tormenting me!   
And yet, I find the silence now to be much worse. We don’t know how lucky we are until we lose what we think is bringing us down. I was a fucking idiot.   
  
There are red streamers here but it’s not a party. They unravel all over…from my mouth. The hole in my neck. Down the front of my jumpsuit.   
I wear crimson better than CDC blue.   
Sprawled on the floor, no energy left to squint against the blinding fluorescent lighting… all I see is a field of poppies. I’m walking towards it.   
Into it. The silkiness of their petals tickle my calves.   
  
There’s a movement in the corner of my eye but then it vanishes.   
It all vanishes.   
The buzzing stops. The light is snuffed.

-  
  
I like to think in my last moment I was loved. Sort of.   
“You went out good, sweetheart.”    
Ron Tully’s voice was soft as a feather against my ear, a prelude to my funeral march.   
This is what I’ll remember. Tully holding me from behind. The heat from his enormous tattooed hand over the skull inked on my heart.   
  
Wait…is he killing me or fucking me?!  
If I let my eyelids lower… tightly shut…I’m not sure. The force of his arm pressing into my chest feels almost like the other times he came to me.   
Came inside me.   
Except now my mind is a haze and the room is upside down and my blood gurgles in the hollow of my throat.   
It’s hard to think.   
  
To be fair, I think I grew on Tully. The last two times I felt his heat inside me, he was gentle. Held me afterwards. No violence or lust. Almost caring.   
Maybe it just got to be some fucked up form of Stockholm Syndrome. I don’t know. Yet I can’t shake the feeling I’m right. I believe, at the end, he genuinely had affection for me.   
I mean Chirst, who rapes you and then reads you poetry?! Only a sociopath, right?  
Okay. Maybe Tully is a sociopath. But I want … need…  _fuck me_  I just wanna believe  _someone_  cared for me at the end. That I didn’t go out a fucking coward rat traitor scumbag boricua.  
  
I can’t leave this place thinking Jax, Happy, Tig… fuck that  _Chibs_  hated me. That my brothers could despise me so much they’d want me dead?! No.   
There was enough hate within myself to go around, which is why I prefer to think they’re simply angry with me. That’s it. Jax and the rest are just mad. That’s why Jax promised me an easy death. He doesn't hate me. He won't remember me like that.   
  
_Chibs_. Goddammit. Disappointing Chibs was my first demise. After that I was a walking zombie.   
I loved him. Even in fucking afterlife I love him.   
I could look in every compass direction and I’d never find another like Chibs. He was everything when I had nothing. He gave me identity when I didn’t even know where I came from.   
It was a love you find once and if you’re dumb enough to fuck it up… that’s it. You’ll never have it again so good fucking luck with being jaded and alone the rest of your life.   
  
There was one Sunday afternoon, I remember because for once no shit was going down. It was quiet.   
We had just come back from a ride. Just me and him. His Dyna was parked in the driveway and his boots at their usual place by my door.   
We sat on my bed, he at my feet. I was on my phone and he was reading, glasses poised halfway on the bridge of his nose. I stopped playing another one of those stupid games with candy or some shit and focused my attention on him.   
  
I adored watching him read. His cobweb lashes lightly fluttered and his whiskered upper lip would twitch when something excited or perplexed him.   
He felt observed.   
“Wha?” He asked, letting the book drop slowly in his lap. “Whatcha starin’ at me for, Juicy?”   
I blushed. I was an easy blusher.   
The heat of the flush burned my cheeks and I drew my breath in quickly, sucked it in between my teeth. Almost a snort.   
Chibs turned my mind into a mess of static with just one look. With just one uttering of “ _Juicy_.”   
He made it more a punctuation than a name.  I had it bad for him, yeah. The static he provoked was loud and electric… but in a good way. Not the  _other_ way that made me visit my medicine cabinet or see myself in the reflection of an empty whiskey bottle.   
  
He reached for me when I didn’t answer. Pressed his mouth to my knuckles in a soft kiss.   
“Come ‘ere,” he beckoned me, eyes rapt. That look was a caress and I like to think my eyes showed how much I always devoured his beauty.   
“Yer distractin’ me from readin’ lad… “  
I grinned. Moved up his torso, fingers counting his ribs. His lips meshed with mine before I could land my elbows on either side of him. I’d kissed him a hundred times before and yet they were always surprisingly soft and gentle.   
I could feel our hearts beating faster the deeper our mouths quested.   
_Oh fuck._ My cock was instantly hard.   
  
Chibs felt it. Bracketed my waist, the thumbs rubbing the arc of my hips until they lowered, looping into the waistband of my boxers.   
“Now see wha ya made me do… “  
I chuckled. “I’m sorry. You’re just so sexy when you read,” I finally managed, the words landing on his lower lip.   
“Aye,” he nodded. “A’m just the epitome of sexiness.”   
  
I bucked into him, my dick springing free from the cotton. He ground up, arching his hips.   
Jesus the friction was all I needed to start leaking. A growl rumbled in his chest.   
In turn I pulled on his underwear, blocking them on the curve of his thighs.   
My ass coaxingly glided up and down on his length, pulling his ample foreskin back and forth over the glistening head.   
“Ah Christ… “ he groaned.   
That uncut cock of his was nudging its way up, right where I’d already spread for him… tight and needy. My legs fell apart even further. I willingly inserted his heat and the backs of my thighs hit skin.   
I sighed at the welcome sensation of fullness.   
  
“Juice yer gonna be ma ruin… “   
Chibs grunted at his first long plunge.   
  
My knees weakened the harder I rode him. We started slow and deep, teasing. There was no reason to rush, especially since we had no place to be. 

His hands moved on my body heavy and warm, memorizing every inch of me all over again. I dug my nails into his sides, leaving crescent marks like blood half-moons.   
Dark almond eyes ravished me, encouraging… I’d get lost in their dreamy gaze every single time we did it.   
This wasn’t fucking. It was making love.   
Chibs leaned lightly into me, tilting his face towards me. “That’s it, Juicy… That’s it. Come fer me… “  
  
His sex possessed the deepest parts of me and when I grew tired, he gathered me to him, reclaiming my mouth. The way he fiercely resisted the burning inside him, pushing me over the edge… he always let me come first. Said nothing turned him on more than to watch me come, my body a shudder on top of him, our bodies cleaving only when I'd bust.   
  
He probed my mouth with his tongue until reluctantly he parted a few inches. His trembling limbs used me for grip. Urgency moved his cock faster inside me as he impatiently brought himself to climax.   
“Ah Juicy Jesus Christ… “ he whimpered as he filled me with his seed in hot, uneven spurts.   
That’s when he kissed me again, the sweet throbbing of his lips consuming me.   
  
Afterwards we lay side by side. His musky smell impossible to miss as he pressed closer, me curled into the curve of his body. Sometimes our legs would intertwine, but not that time. That time he wrapped one arm around me, pecking the top of my head. His index finger traced something into the bone of my shoulder while with his other hand he held open the book.   
He read to me.  He’d do that often. The low vibration of his voice against my palm as I'd nuzzle my head into the crook of his shoulder.   
We were still happy then. I hadn't yet broken his heart.   
  
Upon reflection, maybe that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to hate Tully. He’d read to me, too, those last few times he visited me. What good would hating him have done anyway?! Look where loathing myself got me...  
  
That’s why I picked him to kill me and just didn’t let the Chinese do it. That would have been one last "fuck you" to the MC and I wasn’t going out like that.  
I wanted someone to do it who had shown me kindness. At least once in the past few days, I mean. I know that's fucked up to say about my rapist. But it was true.  
Out of some weird backwards opposite-day type of fucked up affection, Ron Tully was the last person to be somewhat kind to me.   
  
None of that matters anymore. I'm gone. No more betrayal. No more pain. 

It’s cold now where my soul lies, but at least I have my memories to keep me warm. The three things that only ever gave me any kind of bliss I keep near.   
The club.   
My brothers.   
And Chibs. My only.   
  
Eternity is a long time without an anchor. I'm glad I was lucky enough to find mine.    
  
-

 _“And yet a little longer speak,_  
_Calm this resentful mood;_  
_And while the savage heart grows meek,_  
_For other token do not seek,_  
_But let the tear upon my cheek_  
_Evince my gratitude.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Poem opening and closing the story is Emily Bronte's "The Comforter" which Tully reads to Juice in the last season.  
> Please leave kudos or comments if so inclined! Much appreciated!


End file.
